email: tom.bajoras@gmail.com    
       

Poetry

Here’s something you might not know about me: I write poetry. A lot of it. Like a new poem almost every week. About once a year I write something that’s not terrible.

Here’s something else you might not know about me: Early this year I had surgery. I was on some pretty serious drugs for a period of time after that, and I don’t remember much of it (except for the part where I was being chased by the Korean mafia, but I can’t be sure of the accuracy of that). I was flipping through my poetry notebook, and I found something I’d written during that period of time. I swear I have zero recollection of writing this. But it’s in my notebook, in my own handwriting, so I don’t doubt its authenticity. It’s oddly lucid for something scribbled in a hurry while on the run from the Korean mafia.

A House Made of Poems

Everyone lives in a house made of poems.

It might be
A house of brick,
with lots of grass,
And black iron gates
through which guests pass.

Or it might be
A city penthouse,
A j ig sa wpu zzle of concrete and steel.
Each room with a 360 view.

Or
A shack in a row
where me and my bro
walk down the street
in search of our beats

My house is is barely a poem:
A sleeping bag
with stars above me.
Only punctuation marks
between me and God.

3 comments

  1. Chuck says:

    As always Tom you have lots to say. So much good stuff inside you, keep it up always enjoy reading and listening to you. Forgive my punctuation errors.

    lol

  2. Mary says:

    wow, Tom, I really love this! Especially the last line – very haunting and very beautiful.

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